The Happiest Day
by vilgehkmono
Summary: There are orders. And then there are orders. Ciel/Sebastian, slight Ciel/Elizabeth.


Title: The Happiest Day  
Pairing or character(s): very slight Ciel/Elizabeth, Ciel/Sebastian  
Warnings: Uh, does slightly!aged-Ciel count? Blink-and-you'll-miss-it probably unimportant spoiler, too.  
Disclaimer: Do not own.  
Notes: Title taken from the poem by Edgar Allan Poe. :)

* * *

There are orders. And then there are _orders_, undeniable and with all of the force of their pact behind them. Generally, Sebastian only needs the first, as it's part of his aesthetics to follow his master's orders. Maybe Ciel has to use the powerful kind more often after Agni comes to live with them and starts to modify Sebastian's ideas of aesthetics, but most of the time Sebastian is quick to follow his every whim.

So when Ciel is fifteen, though he turns red (he tries and fails to hide it – Sebastian sees too much) when he demands it, he orders Sebastian to kiss him. "Because," he says, "If it becomes necessary in my relations with Elizabeth, it would be prudent to have experience." And this has a measure of truth – Elizabeth is reaching the age where her advances are becoming more sexual, and the time may come when she attempts to kiss Ciel – but Sebastian smirks as he sits next to Ciel on the grand bed, because he knows that this is not the whole truth. He knows of the dreams, pesky and embarrassing, that haunt Ciel's nighttime hours and drag him out of sleep panting and furious at himself. He could tease him about it, but then Ciel might withdraw, and this promises to be a much more interesting game.

When Sebastian's lips cover his own, Ciel can't suppress a shiver. The butler's skin is icy cold where it touches his own, and instead of being warmed by his own body heat and approaching a temperature considered normal, Ciel can feel the warmth of his own skin slipping away, drawn into an echoing void in the space between them. He's fumbling, inexperienced, and shaking slightly as he tries to copy Sebastian's movements, and he hates that clumsiness fiercely. Ciel Phantomhive doesn't enjoy losing. But, he reminds himself, even as his nose hits Sebastian's cheek awkwardly and he winces a little, he's still in control. This is his will, these are his orders.

It's the same when he's sixteen, long since experienced at kissing and more than ready for more. Predictably, his relationship with Elizabeth has stagnated; she never says anything, but she has started to retreat, to pull away from Ciel. Unconsciously, maybe – a defense mechanism, to protect herself from hurt – but Ciel doesn't love her enough to follow, draw her back by the golden thread that connects them.

He'd much rather focus on the black one around his wrists, binding him even as it binds the man he controls. He orders Sebastian to let him fuck him, and of course the butler complies. His skin is alabaster underneath his suit, perfect and unmarred, though he has been injured several times. The epitome of perfection. Ciel feels gangly and awkward as Sebastian undresses him as well, but he refuses to be embarrassed by the changes his body has forced upon him, focusing instead on the black of Sebastian's nails, starkly in contrast with his pale cuticles. The design of the contract stands out even more, jagged and fluid by turns along the back of his hand.

"Nervous, bocchan? We can always stop if it's too much for you to handle." The words are pointed, but without any force; this is just another part of the game that they play. Ciel bristles, as Sebastian knew he would, and smacks his hand away irritably.

"Just prepare yourself."

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian affirms, dark hair doing nothing to hide the amusement in his eyes. He pours the lavender bathing oil procured just for this purpose (from Ciel's own stores, and so the finest available) into his hand, rubbing long, lithe fingers together. Ciel can feel the flush spreading down his neck and across his shoulders when Sebastian spreads his legs and reaches between them. He doesn't look away; he's embarrassed, not a twelve-year-old girl. Sebastian is smiling, dark and dangerous, daring. He puts on a show for his master, stretching himself carefully and deliberately, though he doesn't truly need it. Ciel is fully erect by the time Sebastian gestures for him to come forward, one black-painted nail beckoning like the leg of a black widow crooked to draw her mate to her web.

Sebastian's fingers are cool against Ciel's skin when he takes him in hand, spreading the chilled oil across his erection and guiding him further forward. Ciel braces himself with hands on either side of Sebastian's abdomen as he pushes in; he isn't going to rely on his butler, not for this. He settles for a moment, breathing unsteadily, until chilled fingertips dance across his spine and, soft as a summer's breeze, words ghost across his ear.

"Having difficulties, bocchan?"

Ciel scowls and pulls back, fumbling to establish a rhythm. Sebastian helps obediently, but like water on a table, mercurial and fluid, it escapes the teenager. Finally he catches it, just for a moment, but that's really all he needs as Sebastian clenches his muscles and Ciel comes, mortifyingly early. He frowns as he pulls out, refusing to look at Sebastian's smug expression – he's perfectly aware that at the end, and perhaps throughout the entirety of it, Sebastian had manipulated him easily – and he doesn't bother to pick up his clothes and demand to be dressed again. He's sleepy like he hasn't been since he was twelve and worked too late, and he slides underneath the covers almost lethargically.

Sebastian begins to rise, but a hand on his forearm gives him pause, and he turns to his master questioningly. Ciel's eyes are surprisingly guarded, blue and violet mismatched under dark bangs.

"Stay," he orders, and all the force of their contract is behind it even as the word itself is soft and nearly silent. And Sebastian isn't one to disobey orders, and so he slips under the duvet as well so as not to accidentally shock Meirin into a nosebleed on the off chance she might enter Ciel's room. He's somewhat surprised when Ciel's hand curls into a fist on his chest, almost like a newborn's – the teenager has never been prone to showing weakness, has always detested being caught in such moments – but the deep, even breathing of his charge indicates that the boy is nearly caught by the tides of slumber already.

He nearly misses it when Ciel mumbles softly, a soft exhalation of his name and two pitiful words that trail into breathy silence. Beneath his fluttering eyelids, the sigil in his right eye glows, but there is no answering pull from Sebastian's own contract. Though he is capable of many miraculous feats, not even he can do the impossible. All the order has done is to expose a weakness, soft as the heart of a cherry and as easy to bruise; a weakness that Sebastian is fully prepared to exploit when the time comes.

He is a _demon_, and a butler, after all.


End file.
